


All That Used to Be

by theorchardofbones



Series: Moogle Match [2]
Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Angst, Break Up, I apologise if this destroys you because it destroyed me :), M/M, Swearing, conflict of interest, ffxvrarepairsweek, in case that wasn't obvious, that's not a happy smiley face, you wanted a rarepair? I'll give you a rarepair
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-05
Updated: 2017-07-05
Packaged: 2018-11-23 17:04:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,298
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11406750
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theorchardofbones/pseuds/theorchardofbones
Summary: Gladiolus has it bad for Pelna Khara, a member of the Kingsglaive. And that's why they can't be together any more.Prequel piece forMoogle Match.





	All That Used to Be

**Author's Note:**

> Written for [FFXV Rare Pairs Week 2017](https://ffxvrarepairsweek.tumblr.com) for day 3, 'dancing'.
> 
> The title comes from lyrics from [a Nine Inch Nails song.](https://youtu.be/lJQs-ShfsMc)
> 
> There's not much actual dancing in this fic. In fact, there's mostly just heartbreak.
> 
> When I had first mentioned these two together over in [Moogle Match](http://archiveofourown.org/works/10932249/chapters/24319665), I hadn't been able to get them out of my head. I knew that they were doomed, but still I started imagining all the sweet little moments of them falling for each other, spending time together, getting intimate. I had planned, originally, to write their whole story and publish it after Moogle Match was finished (whenever that might be), but it turned out to be too painful.
> 
> Instead, you get to hop in right at the end — when they break up.
> 
> Enjoy your heartbreak. I'll be crying in the shower :)
> 
> (As always, I'm on tumblr! Personal [here](https://theorchardofbones.tumblr.com); FFXV fandom stuff [here](flowercrownsandchocobos.tumblr.com).)

Pelna is always singing.

He sings in the shower; he sings in the car. He hums along to the music playing over the aisles at the grocery store and sometimes, just sometimes, he forgets himself and starts belting out the lyrics when a really good song comes on, attracting stares from other customers long before he realises he’s doing it.

Gladiolus catches himself doing it too, now. Gladiolus, who spends hours honing his skills as the future king’s shield, relentlessly training until it feels like his body will break. Gladiolus, whose sole mandate is to stake his life for the crown prince.

He does it when he’s in the car with Pel, mumbling the lyrics to the songs he wouldn’t know the words to if he hadn’t heard Pelna sing them over and over while stuck in traffic. He even does it sometimes when Pelna’s not around.

When Pelna isn’t singing, he’s dancing. Swaying his hips to some unsung melody while he waits his turn during Kingslaive sparring sessions; tapping his foot in time to music drifting out of a distant radio while they stand in line for coffee.

Pelna made Gladiolus dance with him, once. They were in the training room, sparring together; a song had come on over the radio that had sounded like a jumble of pounding beats and pitch-corrected vocals, but Pelna had said he loved it and stopped mid-spar to grab Gladiolus by the hand, dancing with him to the rhythm.

Gladiolus wondered at first if it was some Galahdian thing — if all of Pel’s countrymen were the same, compelled by some great, silent song that infects them all like a virus.

He’s seen Nyx’s attempts at dancing; heard Libertus’s warbling, bleating voice. It’s not a Galahdian thing.

It’s little habits like this — like the way he picks up Gladiolus’s shirt in the chill of the morning and slips it on, even though his own one is a foot away — that convince Gladiolus that he’s in love with him.

That’s why they can’t do this any more.

It’s not some rushed decision, some spur-of-the-moment thing. It started as inexorably, as inevitably as the realisation that Gladiolus was falling for him, hard. Maybe it was that day weeks ago, when they passed each other in the hallway at the Citadel and Gladiolus reached out for Pelna’s hand without thinking. Maybe it was a week before that, when he had gone for coffee with Ignis and nearly blurted that no barista’s brew would ever match up to how Pelna made it.

He doesn’t want to think of his life without Pelna in it; doesn’t want to think about never again waking up to that messy black hair, to those long, dark eyelashes fluttering gently in his sleep.

He doesn’t want to end it, but he knows he has to.

He’s fidgeting while he waits for Pelna to show up for their morning run, tugging at the zipper on his sweater. Pulling it up, and down, and back up again. Pacing, sneakers crunching through the grit of the path through the park.

Gods, why does it have to be this way?

He spots Pelna with a pang, watching him cross the grass to greet him. He looks groggy and tired even from here, his hair sticking up all over, and Gladiolus knows that’s his fault. They spent the night together, parting at dawn before anybody could stumble upon them together. Gladiolus had warned that they’d pay for it in the morning and Pelna had just laughed, saying that it was worth it.

It had been, Gladiolus thinks. Whether Pelna realises it or not, they had been saying goodbye.

‘You look like shit,’ Gladiolus says, swinging for casual. He thinks he does a pretty good job.

Pelna snorts; taps a gentle fist into his hip when he’s close enough, and the contact sends a jolt through Gladiolus as though he slipped his arms around him.

‘You always know how to make a guy feel special,’ Pelna says, rolling his eyes. ‘C’mon. If we’re quick, I can get some caffeine on the way back.’

For all that Pel never stops singing, never stops dancing, he’s always silent while they run. Gladiolus used to find it comforting, falling into step beside him and matching his pace, no words shared between them — no _need_ for words.

Now, the absence presses down on Gladiolus, makes him want to fill it with meaningless chatter. Makes him want to say something, _anything_ , to drown out the flood of static in his head.

He pushes himself harder than he should; keeps going when Pelna slows down to a jog, even though his muscles have begun to protest. Even when Pelna calls after him — amused at first, then worried — he keeps pushing, until he doubles over and draws in deep, rasping breaths, each one searing his lungs.

There’s a hand on his back, smoothing down his spine. Slipping up under the hem of his sweater and touching warmly to bare skin.

‘Gladio,’ Pelna says. ‘What’s gotten into you?’

He’s upright in an instant, pain be damned.

‘Nothing,’ he says. ‘Let’s keep going.’

They make it out in time for Pelna to grab his coffee. He doesn’t complain about how watery it is, the way he usually does. Still tosses a handful of change into the tip jar like he always does, but doesn’t meet the eye of the barista as he does so.

Gladiolus doesn’t even order anything for himself. Can’t stomach the thought of — well, putting anything in his stomach. It’s roiling too much, filling him with nausea. The last thing he wants to do is barf all over Pelna’s car before breaking up with him.

The radio’s on while Pel drives them back to the Citadel. Some catchy song is playing, but he doesn’t sing along.

They’re in the underground parking lot when Gladio realises Pelna hasn’t touched his coffee. Realises it’s been sitting there in the cup holder between them, going cold while they drove in silence.

For a long while after Pelna shuts off the engine, they sit together without uttering a word. Gladiolus digs his fingertips into the fabric of his sweatpants, into his thighs underneath. He’s not even sure if it hurts.

‘Why do I get the feeling you want to talk about something?’ Pelna says.

Gladiolus feels his heart sink. Beside him, Pelna shifts in his seat, removing his belt to turn to look at him.

‘Why do I get the feeling I’m not going to like it?’

Gladiolus has been thinking about this conversation for days now. Plotting it, running over what he’ll say — what Pelna will say in turn. He knows he has no way of predicting exactly how Pelna will respond, but he’s run over it so many times, in so many different ways, that he’s sure he knows just how it’ll play out.

‘I really enjoy spending time with you,’ he says. It’s how he always starts it out.

He hears Pelna draw in a sharp breath.

‘Aw, shit,’ he hears Pel say.

Two nights earlier, when they got to spend the whole night together — no worries about Gladiolus’s dad coming looking for him, no training the next day to divide their attention — he had played this conversation out while Pelna lay asleep beside him. Had imagined laying the situation out, explaining why it wasn’t going to work any more, and Pelna had just accepted it.

When Pelna had woken up and found him just sitting there, staring off into space, he had kissed Gladiolus’s neck and told him everything was going to be okay.

 _Is it?_ he had wanted to ask. _Is it really?_

When he finally, reluctantly brings himself to lift his head, looking up at Pelna, he finds him staring back, pale-faced. Like he knows exactly what this is. _Of course he does._

‘I can’t stop thinking about you,’ Gladiolus says. ‘When I’m training with Noct. When I’m listening to my dad rambling about how diligence is just as important in times of peace as it is during times of war.’

He finds himself slipping into an impression of his father’s voice. Normally it makes Pel laugh; today, there’s not so much as a smile on his face.

‘Are you breaking up with me,’ Pelna says, ‘or telling me you love me?’

Gladiolus blows out a slow, shuddering breath and looks down at the coffee cup between them, still untouched.

‘Aw, shit,’ Pelna mutters again.

‘You told me when we started this that we didn’t have to put any pressure on each other,’ Gladiolus says. ‘Told me it didn’t have to mean anything. I can’t… I can’t live like that.’

He hears Pelna suck in a breath; his hand reaches out to Gladiolus’s, touching it tentatively.

‘Is that what this is about?’ he says. There’s a little urgency to his voice, like he’s trying to keep his emotions in check. ‘We can— we can talk about this—’ 

‘We can’t.’

As much as it pains him, Gladiolus forces himself to look up. Forces himself to meet Pelna’s dark eyes, to hold his glance even though he can’t bear what he sees there.

‘You said it yourself,’ Gladiolus says. ‘If anybody knew about us, they’d make us end it. They’d say it’s not appropriate, because it’s a conflict of interest. Because our heads wouldn’t be in it when it mattered. Because we’d be compromised.’

Pelna laughs sharply, entirely humorless. His eyes have gone wide like a caged animal.

‘Seriously?’ he says, shaking his head. ‘We end it, before they can? Come on, Glad — it doesn’t have to be like that.’

Gladiolus closes his fists. Squeezes them tightly shut until he’s sure his knuckles have gone white.

He’s had a few sessions on his tattoo already; the pain was like nothing he had ever experienced. This is worse.

‘So, what?’ he counters. ‘We just keep going on like this? Pretending like we hardly know each other?’

Pelna shrugs.

‘If we have to. It’s worked so far, right?’

Gladiolus shakes his head, looks away. There’s somebody in another car in the lot, her phone pressed to her ear. She’s watching them; barely bothers to pretend she’s not.

‘I can’t do that, Pel,’ he says, slowly. ‘I can’t hide any more.’

At his side, he sees movement out the corner of his eye as Pelna lifts his hands and runs them through his hair. Without looking, he can picture the way the motion dislodges the dark strands of his hair. The way the lights overhead must surely be catching the shine on it right now. The way Gladiolus’s fingers would look twined through it.

‘I would lose my job, Glad,’ Pelna says, quietly. ‘They’re not going to fire _you_. They’ll go after me.’

Gladiolus swallows.

‘I know,’ he says. ‘I’m not going to make you choose between me and the Glaives.’

In the silence, his ears are ringing. The woman across the lot finally gets out of her car, although she flicks a curious glance back towards them as she heads for the elevator, phone still jammed to her ear.

‘Let me get this straight,’ Pelna says, slumping back in his seat with a thud. ‘You won’t make me choose, so you’re choosing for me?’

Gladiolus swallows again. Slowly, he nods.

‘That’s not fair, Gladio,’ Pelna murmurs. ‘You don’t get to do that.’

It doesn’t give Gladiolus any pleasure that he knew Pelna would say that, almost word for word. He didn’t want to be right about this, any of this.

‘Then tell me,’ he says, and once again he drags his glance up to look Pelna in the eye. ‘Would you choose differently?’

There’s a beat, a moment of hesitation that goes on a little too long, and it’s enough. Enough for Gladiolus to get his answer; enough to know he was right about this, too.

He wanted so, so badly to be wrong.

He unbuckles his belt, feeds it carefully back into place. Once he’s free of it, he sits for a moment staring out of the windshield. There’s dirt all over it, all over the hood; Pelna’s been saying for months now that he needs to get it washed, but every minute of free time they’ve had has been spent together.

He turns, his fingers finding Pelna’s. The grasp that meets his is limp at first, then tightens as if Pelna doesn’t want to let go. When he leans in, pressing his mouth against Pel’s, the kiss is slow and warm and bittersweet.

He lets himself out of the car without a word.

He still has things at Pel’s place — a toothbrush, a handful of clothes. He only thinks of it as he makes a brisk line for the elevator, too afraid to look back in case seeing Pelna’s face breaks his resolve.

By some miracle, he holds it together long enough to make it up to the floor where he has his daily training with Noct. Stops outside the door and leans back against the wall, eyes screwed shut.

A set of clipped footsteps passes him by, a voice greets him by name. He doesn’t open his eyes to see who it is.

As the footsteps move down the hall, the sound echoing from wall to wall, he hears whoever it is start to whistle. The tune is familiar, infuriatingly catchy — without trying, he can remember the lyrics, can hear how they sound in Pelna’s voice.

It’s the song they danced to in the training room, months ago. He remembers it; he remembers that it was the first time he felt that little pang in his chest, that realisation that he was falling.

He doesn’t move until Noct shows up, late as always. He doesn’t even have it in him to care.


End file.
